


Haunted by the Sordid Past

by Luna_Bass



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/M, Is a ghost romance necrophilia?, ghosts!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 04:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14128233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Bass/pseuds/Luna_Bass
Summary: Violet is haunted by a ghost - literally, not figuratively.





	Haunted by the Sordid Past

Even in death, he continued to haunt her footsteps.

It was in the little things, Violet supposed, that she saw him at first. Eyes peeking through keyholes in films she would go to watch with her siblings, paintings of empty wine bottles, strangers with unibrows, symbols of a single eye that seemed to permeate every culture on Earth.

If you had known a person for years, even if they had made your life miserable, a lot of things often remind you of them after they die. At first, it was just these normal things, these little things, and so Violet didn't think much of it.

~

One day, as she was idly flipping through a book of poems, Violet found one called This Be The Verse that grew to be one of her most bittersweet favorites, in spite of who had spoken it to her first.

_They fuck you up, your mum and dad._

_They may not mean to, but they do._

_They fill you with the faults they had_

_And add some extra, just for you._

_But they were fucked up in their turn_

_By fools in old-style hats and coats,_

_Who half the time were soppy-stern_

_And half at one another's throats._

Violet froze as she read, slowly, the final stanza of the poem, the words as familiar to her as the creases in her knuckles, as familiar as the location of a creaky stair in an old house – and as familiar as the last words of a bitter enemy, finally trying to do just one good deed, before leaving this world forever.

_Man hands on misery to man._

_It deepens like a coastal shelf._

_Get out as early as you can,_

_And don't have any kids yourself._

Violet had not read the rest of the poem before, and so had not understood what Olaf had meant when he said it. At the time, she had thought perhaps he said it bitterly, with regrets for how his life had gone, or bitterly, with spite behind it to hurt Kit's feelings, but now she knew, finally, what he had intended.

The world could be a cruel place; this she knew all too well. It had been cruel to her and her siblings, with the existence of Count Olaf in their lives. It had been cruel to Count Olaf, too, to make him wish such misery on three orphans – for no fortune was worth the amount of effort he had put towards making them suffer. And perhaps, the world had been cruel to her mother and father, too, to make them kill Count Olaf's parents.

But a greater part of the world is made up of people, and people pass on the suffering they feel to others. The cycle would likely never end, not even with them. It was not some bitter belief about not having children that Olaf had chosen as his equally bitter last words to a new mother. It was a terrible lesson he had learned from life firsthand, and a true one. In life, he had no doubt been miserable – in spite of all he'd done, Violet hoped that he had found peace, wherever he was now. It was the least anyone deserved.

~

Months wore on after she had come of age and gone back to the mainland, and as the former Baudelaire orphans moved into their newly rebuilt home (different enough, from the old one they had, so as not to be painful), Violet sometimes would begin to feel chills in the air in strange places.

This was not an old house in the slightest, and it had central heating, so there was no excuse for a draft or a cold spot. And sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, Violet would see shadows, tall and thin and almost ominous.

But nowadays, (ever since she had read This Be The Verse) things that reminded her of Count Olaf no longer frightened her. They only made her sad. The idea of him no longer seemed to even bother her siblings – they had seem him draw his last breath, had buried him and left him behind them in a darker past. They were growing young people: confident, happy, and untroubled. They were looking forward to a bright future.

And so she did not tell Klaus or Sunny about these odd things that only she would seem to notice, and let him continue figuratively haunting her. He was dead, after all, and ghosts didn't really exist.

She had had two tower rooms built, one for Klaus' research library, and one for her inventing studio. Sunny, understandably, didn't like towers or heights, and probably never would again, so she spent much of her free time in the kitchen on the ground floor, and it would be there that the three siblings would meet at least three times a day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Now that she had a whole workshop all to herself, she was alone much more often. It gave her time for introspection that she had never had before, and it was this that led her to believe that she was probably just imagining things. One cannot spend years of one's life in hiding from someone and not still see them around every corner, after all. That, at least, was what she was sure Klaus would say, if she told him.

And yet, still, when she was alone, Violet would try to ignore the tall, thin and looming presence standing behind her. Still she would see shadows flitting through the halls of her house. Still she would pretend she didn't see his unmistakable silhouette standing by the window of her tower room, gone as soon as she looked directly at him.

If it were a real ghost, she was sure, there would be ill-will expressed. Things would thrown around, attempts on their lives would be made, even from beyond the grave. There would be violence, there would be chaos. He would not stand, silent, just behind her, until she turned to look. It didn't match with what she knew of him. Surely, the situation would be far more alarming if it was really Count Olaf.

(And silently, in an even deeper part of her mind, Violet achingly wondered where the ghosts of her parents were. Why hadn't they stayed, if ghosts were real?)

~

One night, as Violet was wandering the halls of her house (as she was wont to do, ever since life had returned to their own brand of normalcy), she found him, looking as solid and real as he ever was in life, standing over Beatrice's crib, in her nursery just a door away from Sunny's room. His hands were clasped behind his back as he studied the sleeping infant silently, intently, his eyes glittering like beetles.

Violet was frozen for a moment in shock. He did not fade away when she looked at him this time, or appear surprised, or even look back at her, but he turned his head, just slightly, to show that he knew she was there.

"Don't you dare touch her," Violet hissed, her breath making steam in the cold air. "Go away and stay away from her and my siblings, or I'll call a priest."

She had no idea whether he took her threat seriously, but when she blinked, he was gone.

~

After that, she never saw him solid again, but sometimes she would see his face – in the backgrounds of paintings, or behind her in the mirror, or in the shadows of her workshop at night, always gone when she took a second look. Every day, Violet would catch glimpses of his profile in the corner of her eye.

For the next few days after the Beatrice incident, Violet was frightened and couldn't sleep. Before, she had been able to dismiss it as her imagination, as a neurosis that she alone experienced, and could go on living her life without fear. But now, she was certain that this was real. Count Olaf's ghost was haunting them – they would never be free of him, no matter what they did.

But as days passed, and Klaus and Sunny showed no signs of fear or any difference in their behavior at all, Violet's fear began to wane. Perhaps it was just her he was haunting, after all.

He continued showing up in her everyday life, but did nothing so frightening as he had towards Beatrice. Until one day.

Violet was in her tower room, working on an invention, when she suddenly felt his presence leaning over her left shoulder. Violet ignored it, as she always did, when suddenly, she heard his voice, quiet, menacing, and as clear as it was the dark night in the theater when he had whispered his threat in her ear as he and his troupe made their escape. At the sound of it, Violet froze, paled, and whirled around to find him gone again, his sick, evil-sounding chuckle still echoing in the room. A moment later, she bolted downstairs, and called a psychiatrist's office to schedule an appointment.

_I always knew you'd grow up to be pretty._

~

Violet never told Klaus or Sunny about the therapists, but none of them were much help anyway. The first one had kept calling him 'Count Omar,' the second had been obnoxiously toady and obsequious (a word she might not have known if it weren't for Klaus), and the third simply couldn't bring themselves to tell her that ghosts didn't exist and she was just imagining things.

After the twentieth try, Violet gave up. She tried to seek out a priest, but found it surprisingly hard to find one who believed in ghosts. She called paranormal investigators, psychics, mediums of all kinds, but none of them were of any help – none, at least, that she could access without alerting Klaus and Sunny.

Throughout it all, the shadow of Count Olaf seemed to follow her. His expression, seen out of the corner of her eye before she blinked and looked, was almost always darkly amused and scornful.

Even the one person who came closest to really helping her, a medium by the name of Lydia, admitted that she couldn't do much. In the cafe in which Violet had arranged for them to meet, she pursed her lips and looked over Violet's shoulder, where she could feel him standing, literally haunting her, making the air cool with his presence. Violet's heart skipped with relief. Lydia's skills were real.

"Well, I think you were right about what you said over the phone – he seems to be haunting you in particular." Lydia paused to sip from her milkshake, studying what Violet supposed must be Count Olaf with great intent as she fiddled with her silver skull earrings. "You said you knew him when he was alive – do you have any theories as to why his behavior might be so different?"

"I don't know – I was hoping you could tell me. It's not like he talks about what he's doing."

Lydia looked at her with a dry smile. "Oh he talks – you just can't hear him. It takes a great effort for ghosts, especially new ones, to manifest themselves in detectable ways. He seems to be learning quickly, considering the circumstances. Normally, in cases like these, the spirit is either very angry, or has business that they left unfinished. I think that if he were vengeful, he would have done something to actually hurt you by now. Is there any unfinished business he might have that involves you?" Lydia's gaze snapped back to the ghost over Violet's shoulder.

"He never got ahold of me and my siblings' money – he never got revenge on my parents for killing his parents – really, it's more of a question of what he didn't leave unfinished."

"Hm." Lydia's eyes moved back to her face, and Violet found herself under her heavy scrutiny. It was rather uncomfortable, almost more disconcerting than knowing Count Olaf was following her and not being able to do anything about it. "He says that he gave up on everything else in the hours before he died – the real problem is that he never got to say his real last words. But it'll only work if you're willing to listen. Even if that is what's keeping him here."

"Alright," Violet said, eager to get rid of Olaf once and for all. "Let's hear it – what did he want to say?"

She felt a rush of cold air next to her head, and Violet shivered as she realized that he was trying to whisper into her ear again.

Lydia looked disturbed by his actions (or at least Violet presumed that was it, since it appeared she could see him). "He says that at the end, he meant to say that he regretted many things he had done or tried to do to you orphans, but not all of them, or even most of them. But he wanted you three to know that he wasn't all heartless, just blackhearted."

There was a heavy pause. The presence behind her shoulder didn't go away.

Lydia cleared her throat. "Hm. Well, if he doesn't fade over the next few days, then I'm afraid there's not much I can do. Call me if he does fade – if he doesn't, call me anyway. This is an interesting case." Lydia said the last part almost to herself. Her eyes were clouded with deep thought, and her eyes darted back and forth from Violet to the space where Count Olaf both was and wasn't. "Interesting," she repeated softly.

~

He didn't fade over the next few days, or even the next few weeks. Lydia came to visit the house a few times, ostensibly as a new friend of Violet's. She studied the tower rooms, asked her questions about Count Olaf when he was alive, relayed a few messages from him to Violet, and they slowly came to an understanding.

Olaf was stuck with her because of the fortune, which was in her name, and perhaps partially because of his sometime desire for revenge. Since he could never acquire the fortune as a ghost, he'd likely be haunting her till the day she died, and continue haunting the house or her heirs afterwards. Lydia suggested that sometimes ghosts found they could move on by accepting there was nothing they could do, and letting go of their living past, but Olaf, it seemed, was too materially-minded to even imagine letting go in the next life. His regrets were too strong, and attempts at some of Lydia's exercises for letting go of the past only resulted in frustration and a broken vase.

In the end, Lydia finally told Violet that it was likely she'd just have to learn to live with him, and be thankful he wasn't insane or overly hostile. Violet didn't find this encouraging, but was heartened when Lydia mentioned that she had managed to do the same.

"It helped that I had also started out living with more positive ghosts," Lydia said with a smile. "They were haunting my house because they had died tragically – another thing which can make souls into ghosts. The ghost I'm living with right now is only still around because he's let go of his humanity completely – and because he keeps finding new things in this world to hold onto. Right now, that's me, and driving live people crazy. Olaf is much less chaotic, and listens to reason, so considering how smart you are, I think you two can figure out how to make it work." She patted Violet's shoulder as she went out the door. "I have faith in you. Don't forget to keep me updated."

Knowing why he was still around seemed to make things settle a little. The house still seemed gloomy and dark at times, but Olaf's presence was now more of an irritation than something to fear. Her family still showed no signs of noticing him, and Olaf hadn't shown signs of aggression since the vase incident. He also hadn't appeared, either, which Violet didn't know whether to be happy about or not.

She had decided to start working on an invention that would allow her to communicate with Olaf without alerting Klaus, Sunny and Beatrice. Violet doubted they would react well to finding out that he was still with them, so secrecy was probably for the best. Olaf was probably bored, and she didn't want to risk him starting something and revealing himself. Being able to talk to someone might provide some kind of outlet.

Life had found something of a routine – Violet would get up, say good morning to Olaf, get ready for the day in the bathroom, go down to eat breakfast with her siblings, spend the day as she normally would in various activities alone (or with Olaf) or with her siblings (and sometimes Olaf), go back up to her tower to invent things after dinner, and then go to bed. Everything was the same, peaceful – except that now, she acknowledged the ghost in her shadow.

(And on late evenings in her tower room, when pale moonlight streamed onto the floor and her solar-powered lamps were dimming, Violet sometimes wondered what on Olaf had meant when he had said that he had always known she would grow up to be pretty.)


End file.
